“Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.” – Peter S. Beagle

******************

Buffy struggled to her feet and did a quick circuit about the room before returning to where the group sat huddled together.

“I think we should split up. See if we can find any clues as to where exactly we are,” the slayer told them.

When Dawn moved to go with her sister, Buffy held up her hand. “Go with Giles, Dawnie.” The girl frowned but nodded reluctantly, moving to stand by the watcher.

The slayer lifted her arm to look at her watch and noticed that it didn’t appear to be working. Her brows narrowed thoughtfully as she gazed at the unmoving dials. She tapped it for a moment, as if that alone would get the second hand to start moving, yet still no response – the thing was dead.

“Alright. Stick with your buddy. Anything doesn’t feel right, run. Meet back here in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Uh, Buff, how’r we supposed to know when twenty minutes is up?” Xander pointed to his own watch. “My watch is dead, too.”

“So’s mine,” Dawn chimed in. At Giles’ frown, the teenager crossed her arms over her chest, telling him, “Well, it is.”

“I don’t know, guys,” Buffy replied sarcastically. “Why don’t you try counting.”

When Giles looked to interject, and perhaps chastise her for her bitchy comeback, the slayer held up her hand. “Look. Just guesstimate, ok? I just don’t want this to be an all day excursion. Do a quick sweep and come back. Is that too much to ask?”

They all shook their heads in silent answer to her question and wandered off. Xander and Anya disappeared down one corridor, while Giles and Dawn took another direction. Willow and Tara took the stairs, leaving Buffy to try and find an exit and scout around the building.

The slayer had just slipped out of the huge front door and hurried down the stairs when she felt a presence at her back. With a burst of speed, she slipped out of sight, breathing hard for a moment at having almost gotten caught. When she felt it was safe, Buffy snuck a peek around the corner and watched as an elderly man – his white hair and beard unusually long, garbed in matching flowing white gowns and holding in his right hand a staff that was as easily as tall as the man himself – descended the steps to greet someone racing on horseback towards him.

Horseback?

That puzzled her almost as much as the second man’s appearance. For he, too, bore similar attire – only darker and less regal. She remained glued to her spot as they moved off along the grounds, their stiff posture suggesting their discussion to be something of grave importance. After a bit, the slayer left her hiding place, sticking to the trees as she slowly stalked the pair. Words like “ring” and “Shire” floated on the wind as she followed, but they made little sense, telling her nothing that would help pinpoint their location.

The pair soon made their way inside, leaving the slayer to scout around the grounds for more clues. She gave the weirdly dressed men a few more minutes head start, before hurrying back to the steps that would take her inside. Everyone was waiting for her, their anxious faces relaxing once they saw her return. Everyone, that is, except Willow and Tara.

A loud bang, much like the slamming of a door, startled the group, and the slayer tore up the stairs, yelling for the others to take cover. A scream – a female scream – echoed off the walls. Willow! ‘I’m coming, Willow!’ Sounds of a struggle lead her towards a set of doors and her friends, but try as she might, she could not get them to budge. Something powerful, almost evil…no definitely evil, was inside, its malevolent talons squeezing the life out of those that seemed opposed to its whim.

Inside the room, Willow stood beside Saruman, eyes black as the darkest evil, having just suffered an invisible blast from the wizard. As the power consumed her, the redhead’s face twisted with a sinister smile, intent upon the two held bound by her master’s staff. Then the figures were thrust upwards, their bodies spiraling higher and higher, to be imprisoned on the roof of the Isengard tower.

‘Buffy?’

The voice in her head startled the slayer, and she jumped back from the door as the harsh sounds of fighting faded.

‘Tara?’

‘Run, Buffy. Get the others and get out of the tower. Hurry.’

‘Not without you and Willow.’

‘Willow’s gone…turned. I don’t know what happened. MOVE! They’re coming towards the door. Hurry, Buffy.’

Buffy raced down the stairs, yelling for the others to follow her as she ran towards the door that would lead out of the tower. Grateful when they offered up no objections and rushed after her.

‘Tara?’

‘I’m still here. Gandalf says when you get to the bottom of the steps to go right. There’s a stable back there.’

‘Stable? Wait! Gandalf? Who is Gandalf?’

‘He’s a friend. He’s with me right now. Now mount up and ride across the bridge. Hurry, before Willow and Saruman realize you guys are there.’

“Uh... Buffy,” Giles questioned as they ran blindly towards some building. “Where...where are.... we.... going?”

“I don’t know, Giles. Tara—”

“Tara?”

“Yes…Tara. She’s in my head. Telling me what to do. So… you ever been horseback riding?” she asked him as they ground to a halt outside the stable.

“Certainly…now what’s this all about. And why are we running.”

“Look, Giles. I don’t have time to explain right now. I’ve got to get these horses… whatevered, so that we can get out of here. Like now.” Giles, seeing his charge’s urgency, made quick work of saddling five horses for her.

No one said a word as they guided their mounts out of the stable and quickly gained their backs. Of the five of them, only Giles and Anya had ridden before, and it was a sight to see Xander, Dawn, and Buffy steer the animals after settling in the saddle.

“Come on. We have to hurry. Giles, get us across the bridge.”

The watcher nodded and took the lead, kicking his horse into an easy canter, figuring that would be the easiest gait for the others to adapt to.

‘Buffy? Gandalf says to head north along the mountains. You need to get to Rivendell. Rivendell, okay? Remember that…’

‘Tara? Tara? Tara!’

She almost turned back, hating to leave either of her friends behind. But, Tara appeared safe for the moment. She wasn’t alone, and appeared to have a protector in this Gandalf person.

******************

Once Buffy felt it was safe enough, she signaled for Giles to slow down. Having never been on a horse, she’d relied on her slayer skills to keep her upright. Unfortunately, Dawn and Xander didn’t have the same luck and were barely clinging to their mounts. Right now, a nice walk would do them all a bit of good.

“Now, can you tell me what in the world is going on?” Giles questioned as he reined his mount in alongside hers.

“Honestly, Giles, I just don’t know. What I can tell you is that we’ve got to get to Rivendell. Appears our questions will get answered there.”

“Hey, Buffster? Where’s this Riven-whatsit?”

“Rivendell. And it’s that way,” Buffy replied, lifting her arm and pointing in the general direction of due north.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that, what with us heading in that direction. I’m just wondering how long my butt’s gonna be stuck in this saddle.”

“Gee…I don’t know, Xander. Tara didn’t exactly mention that while we were racing away from that …whatever the hell that place was.” Buffy was tired, and confused, and angered that she’d had to leave both Tara and Willow behind; she really didn’t want to have to deal with Xander’s lip right now. She pulled away from the others, taking the lead – not that she really knew where she was going, just that she was to follow the mountain range north.

For several hours they rode in silence, until Giles took it upon himself to ride up alongside the slayer.

“I think we need to stop and water the horses,” he told her. “And, I’m not sure what passes for food around these parts, but maybe I could hazard a guess at the local vegetation… see if anything is edible.”

“Huh? Yeah, ok.”

The two dismounted, signaling to the others that they were stopping for the moment. Each of them led their horses to the stream, allowing them to drink their fill. Anya, in a show of practicality, created a makeshift cup with her hand, allowing some of the cool liquid to fill the space, then brought it to her lips to drink. She was far less squeamish than the others about drinking straight from the source. Besides, it wasn’t as if the water could actually be polluted, given the lack of any sign of modern convenience.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders and followed the ex-demon’s example. And once Buffy started drinking, the others fell into line. Such that no one noticed the lone man on horseback who silently slipped from the saddle and stealthily made his way to the stream.

Boromir figured the petite blond as an easy hostage – someone to use as leverage while he figured out just who these people were. Dressed in strange clothes, there was no telling what manner of people they were…

His arms reached out, intent on capturing the young girl, when suddenly he went sailing over her head to land in the water in front of her. He recovered quickly, drawing his sword as he rose to his feet, his eyes quickly scanning the others to note their position.

“Buffy, be careful!” Dawn hollered.

Buffy ignored her sister, having eyes only for the man that had attacked her. He was stalking towards her, sword at his side. Almost as if he’d drawn it on reflex alone, not in any real desire to hurt her. Taking a chance that that was the case, she asked him, “Do you know the way to Rivendell? Gandalf said I needed to go there.”

That brought him up short – about six feet in front of her.

Boromir eyed the girl, surprised that he was able to understand her quite easily. Pointing his sword at her, he asked, “You know Gandalf the Grey?”

“Yes,” she lied. “We just left that tower earlier today, and he told us to go to Rivendell, that he’d be along later.” This last part was pure fabrication on her part, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Isengard?”

“Yes. Isengard. That’s it. Sorry, I’m horrible with names. Mine’s Buffy, by the way. Buffy Summers.”

“Boromir of Gondor,” he announced, sheathing his sword and climbing out of the water. “And you are in luck, Buffy Summers, for I, too, journey to Rivendell to seek Lord Elrond’s council. But…I must warn you. The way is long and hard. Are you sure that you…” he paused, glancing around at her companions. “…and your friends are up for the task?”

The slayer snorted. After dealing with a hell god, riding on horseback to Rivendell should be a piece of cake!

******************

The darkened interior did much to disguise the figure standing motionless in the corner. His nondescript cloak, hiding the weapons that would proclaim his “profession” – Ranger. Amber eyes noticed the moment the four little wee people entered the Prancing Pony, the ones Gandalf had mentioned to both him and his brother. He glanced over and caught Strider’s slight nod, indicating that he’d seen their entrance, his hardened features illuminated briefly as he took a pull on the pipe between his lips.

Two sets of eyes watched over the hobbits as they made their way over to the barkeep, noting their distress and confusion when word was given that the wizard had not been heard from or seen in awhile. Spike just hoped that no harm had come to the grizzled old man.

All seemed quiet as the four settled around a table and ate, and the two rangers breathed a sigh of relief that none of the taverns inhabitants seemed intent on bothering the little people. Now all they had to do was wait until the four retired to make their presence known, at the request of the one their apparent leader sought.

Spike watched as one of the hobbits walked off, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips as the little man’s words drifted towards him. ‘Li’l bugger ‘pears game for anything, if he thinks he’s gonna finish that pint.’ Dismissing him, the vampire returned his concentration to the leader. He seemed drawn, paler than the others. The burden he’d undertaken having apparently shaken him.

His eyes having left the small group to take a sweep around the room, Spike didn’t notice him get up and rush towards where the other hobbit was perched up at the bar, pointing, “That’s him, that’s Frodo Baggins.” Suddenly, Frodo lost his footing and stumbled backwards, his prize – his burden – flying free from his hands, the gold ring catching the light of the fire as it tumbled in the air before settling on the hobbit’s finger.

And he disappeared right before their eyes.

Pandemonium broke out amongst those standing the closest to the downed hobbit, and Spike watched as Strider came out of his chair from his spot in the corner across the room. Spike’s attention, while keeping an eye on the two that had remained at the table, was consumed with the Ringwraiths as they felt the pull of their master’s ring.

They were close…and getting closer. The shrill cry of their horses neighing tearing into his skull. The pounding of their hooves against the ground ever gaining on their location.

Strider kept his eyes trained on where Frodo had last been, his eyes ever alert for any slight movement that would indicate the direction he’d taken.

There.

A slight movement of an empty table, then Frodo appeared, having removed the ring from his finger.

The ranger reached down and pulled the hobbit to his feet, whispering a harsh, “You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill.” Strider easily lifted the hobbit in his arms, trusting Kriger to look after the others still in the main hall, as he escaped to the rooms above stairs. Only once he was safely behind a closed door did he release the hobbit, anger at the other’s carelessness causing him to be somewhat harsh in his manhandling.

“What do you want,” Frodo asked, backing away from the Ranger and awkwardly rising to his feet, his back against the wall as he tried to put as much distance between him and the man.

“A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry,” he replied, pacing back and forth as he checked the windows for any signs of Sauron’s faithful.

“I carry nothing,” the hobbit lied.

“Indeed.” Strider’s tone of voice sounding surprisingly like his brother’s in that moment. Extinguishing the candles that were lit about the room, he told his guest, “I can avoid being seen, if that is my wish. But, to disappear entirely? That is a rare gift.” He pulled the hood of his clock off his head, allowing the other the first glimpse of his features.

“Who are you?”

“Are you frightened?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered.

“Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you,” Strider replied honestly.

A movement at the door had him pulling his sword just moments before it burst open, revealing the remaining members of Frodo Baggins' group.

“Let him go, or I’ll have you, Longshanks!”

Brandishing nothing more than fists, a chair, and a candlestick, the tiny trio brought a reluctant grin to his lips as he sheathed his sword.

“You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming,” Strider told the hobbit, before lifting his eyes to see the same amusement in his brother’s blue eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I made sure they weren’t followed,” Spike told him. The sounds of a voice at their back caused the three hobbits to jump in alarm and make their way towards Frodo. “As far as anyone below is concerned, they’ve slipped up to their room.”

“Let’s just pray it works.”

Spike nodded grimly and sealed the door, moving to the window to keep an eye out for the Ringwraiths.

******************

“They’re here,” Spike whispered sometime later. At the far side of the room, Strider drew his sword and waited. The slide of metal upon metal woke Frodo, and his eyes flicked from one Ranger to the other, taking note of their battle stances.

Moments later, the sound of screeching filled the air, waking the remaining hobbits. No one could sleep through that noise – the creatures’ keening cries promising retribution at being denied that which they sought. It was only after the Ringwraiths disappeared and the two men in the room seemed to relax, that Frodo voiced the question on each of the hobbits’ minds.

“What are they?”

“They were once men. Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you,” Strider replied. “Now sleep, we’ve a long journey ahead and you’ll need your rest.”

The hobbits obediently moved off, each seeking their own pallet.

Spike stepped away from the window and crossed the room to stand beside his brother.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, once you’re dead. Sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

Seeing the argument just waiting to happen, the vampire added, “I’ll wake you in three hours and you can do the same for me.”

Strider nodded, pulling off his sword and laying it within easy reach as he stretched out on his own pallet. Within minutes, he was asleep and Spike was left to watch over the others.

‘Gandalf, where are you?’

******************

Before daybreak had made itself known, the small group was well on their way. While Spike rode Shelerof, frequently scouting ahead and checking their flank, Strider stayed with the hobbits, his own mount turned into a packhorse of sorts. Listening to the quiet grumblings of his group, he thought that maybe his brother had the right of it. Although, trying to get Shelerof to pack anything but his own rider and gear would be an exercise in futility, well knowing the temperament of the roan stallion gifted to his brother by Elrond.

“Where are you taking us?” Frodo finally asked.

“Into the wild.”

“How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf’s?” Merry whispered to Frodo.

The hobbit sighed, answering, “We’ve no choice but to trust him.”

“Yeah, but…did you see his friend? Scary. And he's not said hardly more than two words the entire trip.”

“Which makes me wonder just where exactly he’s leading us,” Sam piped in.

“To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. The House of Elrond,” Strider replied, his pace never slowing.

“Did you hear that?” Sam exclaimed. “We’re going to see the elves!”